Life After Death
by MaidofShadow
Summary: "She knew his type and would not have it. He'd let himself die if he had the luxury of mortality. The most recent time the world had ended affected him more than most. But Ida did not let people die." Set during the 5 years that pass in Endgame, Thor slowly develops a relationship with a local nurse who heals more than just his injuries. Thor/OC bad summary, please click!


**Hi everyone. I know I have to get on with my current works but inspiration hit after a brief interaction I had that made me really wanna write a specific type of story with specific characters. This story will only be a few chapters long and will cover some of the time during the five years that pass at the beginning of Endgame, as well as _possibly_ some events of the film itself though I am not totally sure yet. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thor or the Avengers.**

**PS writing this I pictured the main character's name to be pronounced as EYE-DAH but honestly, whatever pronunciation you see fit is fine.**

It probably took Ida too long to notice the new man in Tønsberg.

It was, of course, not entirely her fault, as he did not appear to leave his house regularly, but that was no excuse. She'd moved here somewhat recently and had gotten to know the village rather well, her position in the community keeping her more or less informed of the comings and goings of the place. It was a small fishing town – quiet and exactly what she needed. The people were kind and allowed her to mind her own business, something she liked. She wasn't stupid. She knew there was something…off about them. She'd heard the legends, that these people were gods, and with everything else that had happened, she was inclined to believe them. They had a strength that she could not comprehend, and she noticed they didn't really sustain injury, but they were caring and welcoming and didn't ask too many questions, seeing in her another whose home had been displaced. They accepted her into their community easily and she recognized other people like her who lived happily amongst these beings, treated more or less equally despite their mortality.

This man was not one of them. He was like the others here.

The first time she saw him he was coming into town to pick up "supplies", which mostly included various alcohols and junk foods. She knew instantly that he was the same race as the others, despite the fact that that his physique was slightly…different. He had more weight on him than most, though she could see traces of muscles that hadn't entirely disappeared and a strength in him despite his drunken swagger.

He wasn't quite like the others though either. Everyone here was sad, everyone here had lost but she could see a different sort of loss in him; a guilt. She watched him from afar, curious at this dirty, sad blonde man. He looked as if he hadn't showered in a month and hadn't smiled genuinely in even longer. The others treated him with a special respect, bowing their heads slightly as he exited the small shop and went on his way. They all seemed to know this man, looking at him in both pity and awe. His eyes met hers briefly, and she blinked, electricity running through her veins fleetingly as she caught a glimpse into his soul. And then he walked away.

She wondered at him for a while, heart stuck on the large man with million-year-old eyes. He seemed like a fallen angel, unable to adjust to the horrible ordeal of being human.

She did not see him again for quite some time, allowing him to fade out of thought and memory and going about her regular business. One of her favourite things about Tønsberg was the way the community functioned. She had no set career, just doing odd jobs around the town. She liked that she could learn things as she went, with teachers everywhere. Sometimes she went fishing, sometimes she helped out at a local bar, sometimes she gardened, but mostly she cleaned and healed, liking the feeling of doing something useful.

People knew her well enough to know when to call her and where to send her, seeming to know who needed help and why and giving her a good idea of the community as a whole and the people within it. She mostly made house calls, as there was no official place one would go to reset an arm or get a shot. The humans mostly needed her in these ways, though sometimes the others asked for menial tasks. She did not mind, knowing they liked her presence and feeling the warmth of theirs. They did not ask much of her past and she did not of theirs, the arrangement pleasant and lacking the typical pressure of societal interaction from both sides.

Occasionally she worked outside the town, helping an old woman with her vegetables and stitching up those who had taken a tumble in the forest. She was sent to small houses on the outskirts, people who didn't want to—nor could – forget the great loss. She supposed none of them really could, some were just better at handling it than others.

He lived in one of these places—the ruined king. She hadn't meant to enter his domain as she had, medical bag over one shoulder and a basket of goods in the other. She had been sent by the village, loaded with gifts—or perhaps offerings—for someone she had been told was ailing. She had not realized it was the broken god.

"Hello?" she asked as she stepped into the house, clad in dirty flannel, chin scrapped and hair half out of its bun.

"Are you here about the internet?" a strong voice called back; the speaker's accent recognizable to her now as belonging to the beings that inhabited the village.

"I'm sorry-" she stepped over some dirty laundry; eyes trained on the ground as she tried to avoid her boots getting mud on the already worse for wear clothing. "I'm just here to drop something off-"

She looked up and froze, two toned eyes looking back at her expectantly. It was him, the man whose heart weighed more than the earth itself.

"A gift?" he asked, a good natured drunk who could almost hide his pain. Almost. Not from her.

She blinked once, regaining her composure.

"From your friends in town," she handed him the basket, keeping a respectful distance.

"And might you happen to be one of these friends?" he smiled in a way that she recognized as belonging to the broken ones, masking their grief with laughter. His eyes nearly twinkled.

She tilted her head.

"We've not met," she reminded him gently, as to not offend him. There was something regal about this man, even more so than the others and stronger now that she stood before him.

"You're not a fan of Thor the God of Thunder?" he asked, giving her a wink. "Sneaking in here to get an autograph?"

She blinked a few times. Thor, she knew that name from the news many years ago, though she never paid it much mind. She had had everything she needed then and the world was too cruel to look at for too long, so she paid little attention to the heroes that supposedly stopped some world ending event every other year. She understood the excitement—the loss that came with every time the world was saved—the collateral damage and the fear but she knew what others didn't—that the world was always ending.

"Just here to drop this off," she shook her head lightly, tone somewhere between neutral and apologetic. He really _had_ been a god, this man. A failed deity.

His smile faded slightly, as if remembering something. She felt something move within her, recognizing in him what she had so often seen in herself.

"My name is Ida," she introduced herself softly, testing the waters.

He blinked a few times and suddenly his smile was back. A drunken, superficial smile but a smile, nonetheless.

"Well then Ida of New Asgard, I am Thor, God of Thunder." He managed a wobbly half bow with a rather large flourish. She knew he was joking, of course. She could sense no ego in his words, so she gave him a half smile and tilted her head when she noticed the poorly bandaged cut on the man—god's—forearm.

She bit her lip, hoisting her bag over her shoulder more securely.

"You seem to have hurt yourself Thor, God of Thunder," Ida observed, gentleness in every word. She looked up at him, concern in her eyes.

He glanced down at his arm, as if surprised to see the injury.

"Ah yes, a mistake with an axe you see-"

She stepped further into the room, hand suddenly in his and examining the wound, cutting off his words with her touch.

"I'll rebandage it," she decided, causing the god to blink.

"That is not necessary Ida-" Thor began but she knew his type and would not have it. He'd let himself die if he had the luxury of mortality. The most recent time the world had ended affected him more than most, perhaps because he had been involved.

But Ida did not let people die—not when she could help it, so she ushered him gently but firmly onto the couch, taking the spot next to him and removing the poorly placed bandage. She looked through her bag briefly before finding a new one and some disinfectant, focused on the task at hand. She could feel his eyes on her but did not mind all too much. He would've had nice ones had they not reflected what she saw in her own.

"I'm going to disinfect it-" was all the warning she gave before pouring a small amount of rubbing alcohol on his skin. These immortals liked it even less than the mortals, she had found, and he hissed. "Hold still," she said gently, fingers lightly grazing his elbow and wrapped around his wrist.

He winced but complied, quiet as she went to work. He needed a few stitches, something she found was uncommon though not impossible amongst the otherworldly beings of Tønsberg. It helped them heal just as much as people like her, though their cuts were often deeper than humans could withstand.

She felt Thor's energy shift slightly, the room becoming stuffier and uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" she asked, voice soft. Her voice was always soft. She glanced up at him, eyes even softer.

"Am I so weak your needle can penetrate my skin?" he asked, no longer caring she was a newcomer who was not supposed to see his pain.

She looked up at him again, softening even further.

"It's made of uru. It was a gift, from one of the fishermen who thought I'd need it once I started taking on some medical work." She touched his knee fleetingly. "Don't worry."

He relaxed slightly.

"You know my hammer was made of uru-"

She quieted him with a smile, one that told him she knew all she needed to. She finished fixing him up, brows furrowed in concentration as he watched her work.

"That's better," she said with satisfaction, pinning the bandage in place. "It will have a much better chance at avoiding scarring now." She let go and met his eyes once more before feeling as if the breath had been stolen from her, lightning in her veins once more.

The blonde man looked at her for a minute, allowing himself a moment of openness in which he permitted her to gaze into him and he into her. She stared at him, frozen, eyes trained on the million-year-old tale living in his.

The room felt heavy with electricity, crackling and unstable as their two souls met for the briefest of moments before his faux smile was back again and the room's atmosphere deionized.

"Will you return Nurse Ida?" the god asked, Ida's fingers falling away from his arm.

"I-" She felt a warmth in her cheeks—in her body—that the energy had left behind. "Yes."

"Tomorrow?" It was a request, not an order and Ida found herself nodding.

"Tomorrow," she confirmed, noting the slight release of tension in his shoulders and the absence of some of the falseness in his smile.

And she did come back tomorrow, with her medical bag and detergent.

He greeted her from the couch, in a more casual fashion than the previous day, before she went to work on his arm—changing the bandages and inspecting the healing process.

"You're doing well," she patted his knee, his attention briefly diverting from the TV to focus on her.

He grinned, in that almost real way of his, and she noted he was handsome.

"I'm glad to hear it."

She wasn't entirely sure that was true, but she did not say anything, instead rising from the couch.

He watched her then as she ignored him and went about picking up the dirty laundry.

"Wait- You don't have to do that-" he began, but she silenced him with a look, eyebrow raising slightly.

"This is a mess," she informed him.

"I'm going to clean them-" he assured her, nearly pouting and looking around the room. "Just…later."

She shook her head, continuing to go about her business.

"Well I'm going to clean them now," she informed him, straightening as she picked up the last dirty t-shirt.

He protested lightly but she ignored him, setting the first load on in what seemed to be a never-before-used machine.

It was only after the third load that Thor joined her, quietly taking the clean laundry off her hands and looking nearly ashamed as he quietly carried his newly washed sheets into the bedroom.

She helped him make the bed, neither speaking. She recognized his discomfort with himself, with the fact that she had so obviously pointed out that something was wrong, but she did not mind.

"I'm sorry," he said later, once they had finished with the laundry and she was on her way out.

She tilted her head.

"For what?"

That answer seemed to surprise the god, causing him to blink a few times and frown.

"That you had to clean up my mess-"

Ida smiled.

"You didn't ask me to," she reminded him. "I did it of my own accord."

He seemed unconvinced, the familiar guilt in his eyes again. She stepped forward, reaching out to squeeze his uninjured arm.

"I understand," she said, eyes trying to convey her meaning. "It's not easy to live a normal life when death is everywhere you look."

He stared at her and Ida thought she might've felt a spark at the end of her fingertips.

"Will you return Nurse Ida?" He asked.

She searched his eyes, nodding.

"Tomorrow?" He asked

"Tomorrow." She confirmed.

And she did come back tomorrow, with her medical bag and a broom.

She changed his bandage and cleaned up his empty beer bottles. The next day she took out his stitches and wiped down the surfaces. They didn't speak much, and she never stayed long but each day he'd ask if she'd return. "Tomorrow?" He'd ask.

"Tomorrow," she would answer.

And she always did.

She didn't mind, she was used to cleaning up and it took her mind off things. He was lonely and wanted to be with someone who did not know him. That she understood. She was empty and wanted to spend time with someone who didn't want more from her. Eventually the house was liveable again and he had healed.

"Alright," she hoisted her medical bag over her shoulder after removing his bandage for the last time.

He looked at her with something different then, concern or upset.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

She tilted her head. He had never asked that before.

"Yes," she said in her soft voice. "should I…not?"

He frowned, uncertain.

"Will you return Nurse Ida?" His voice was gentler than usual, more vulnerable.

She paused, feeling the energy in the atmosphere shift—urgent and nervous.

"Of course," she said, voice even gentler than usual.

He released some of the tension in his shoulders.

"Tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Tomorrow."

And she did come back tomorrow. There was less to do this time, so she brought a basket of ingredients.

"Nurse Ida-" He smiled upon seeing her, causing her to stop in her tracks. He had never looked at her like this, with relief in his expression and a lack of sadness in his gaze. "You came."

"I said I would," she said, puzzled.

The god shrugged.

"I suppose you did."

She tilted her head at him for a moment before shaking it almost in amusement and moving past him into the kitchen.

He frowned after her, as if unsure of what she was doing. She ignored him as she went about her tasks—as she usually did. She sliced and diced, working on a quick but fresh dinner since the god looked as if he hadn't eaten a vegetable in a year. He stayed in the living room, until curiosity got the better of him and he was suddenly hovering behind her.

She moved around him easily, paying him no mind except to snatch the beer out of his hand.

"Hey-" He spluttered, attempting to protest and reach for his drink but she spun around him, more agile than he was in his current state.

"If I'm your nurse than I get to decide what you put in your body."

He began protesting again.

"And I made you this nice meal and I request you take it without beer," she added.

He shut up. She smiled slightly to herself.

It was easy to get him to listen after that. He politely set the table, seeming to come out of his drunkenness slowly. He seemed to be mistaken as to how many spoons they each needed but she didn't mind. It was endearing.

They tried sitting at the table for a bit, though neither really felt as if they had much to say to one another so they quickly moved to the couch, some idiotic romantic film with an actress that had long since turned to dust playing in the background. It wasn't very good or interesting or in a language Ida could understand but she found she felt less alone sitting next to this lonely god.

"Eat your vegetables God of Thunder," she nudged his knee lightly, amusement in her eyes.

"You're not my mother," Thor grumbled, eyes down.

"No, just your nurse," she nudged his knee lightly once more, smile gracing her lips in a way it hadn't in quite some time.

He glanced at her and did a double take, staring for a moment as she held his gaze before turning back to the film. The room's energy felt charged once more but Ida didn't notice it much despite a slightly tingle where her knee touched the Asgardian king, focused on trying to make sense of the film.

He helped her clean up after the movie, that same half ashamed look in his eye as she washed the dishes he brought her.

She didn't pretend not to see it, why would she? She knew what others had probably said to him, that he had to pull it together or be strong for his people, but had he not too lost? Had he not lost even more than them? She didn't mind their arrangement, not one bit. If she did, she wouldn't be here. So, she continued to wash up before saying a soft goodnight and telling him that she'd be back the next day.

He watched her go, something unreadable in his expression but she did not feel the need to puzzle him out. There was no urgency in a world where everything had already been lost.

She returned every day for the next week, generally just cleaning and cooking once every few days to make sure Thor would eat something other than crisps. They continued to keep speaking to a minimal, the god seeming uncomfortable with anyone getting too close. Ida understood the feeling, but knew Thor valued her company and knowing that she forced him slightly out of the easy routine.

"Ida," he said one day, tone throwing her off, not having ever heard him call her by just her name.

"Thor?" She asked, sounding slightly uncertain.

"Would you like to…sit with me?" he asked, also sounding unsure and nearly nervous. She felt it in the air, as she often did, the atmosphere tense.

She tilted her head.

"Oh."

She did not expect that, feeling as if the action was intimate if they weren't immediately doing something. Thor opened his mouth, as if to take it back, half drunk and regretful, but Ida cut him off.

"Sure."

She sat next to him on the couch, both of their backs a bit too straight despite the god's usually slumped position. Thor smiled at her in that awkward polite way that people often did. Ida bit her lip.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Ida said unexpectedly, half surprised by her own suggestion. Thor seemed to be as well, blinking a few times.

Even more surprisingly, he agreed.

She dug through her bag, looking for any book she might've had on hand. She found a dog-eared paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice, pausing for a moment to stare at it.

She cleared her throat and straightened soon enough, skipping quickly past the inscription on the inside and ignoring the memories that came with it.

"Pride and Prejudice," she began. "By Jane Austen."

Their future days were spent reading together, Thor becoming increasingly enthralled in the tale and even asking questions from time to time, giving Ida more of an insight into him that she had yet to have. He seemed to like Jane best and had little sympathy for Darcy's rudeness. He understood the social pressures placed upon Mr. Collins in his attempts to find a wife, and hated Lady Catherine less than most. She supposed his odd view came from his life as royalty, well before it had been taken from him. Even if he was not like them personally, he understood nobles in a way that Ida never could and had the luxury of never having heard this tale and therefore expressing contempt for Mr. Darcy.

Of course, this contempt soon disappeared, as it did with all readers, and he listened avidly to the tale of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, their visits getting longer and going further into the night. They became more comfortable with one another as well, Ida easily curling up in the corner of the couch while Thor leaned back with some form of alcohol to listen intently to the story. Ida continued cooking and cleaning, forcing Thor to comply on the nights where she insisted he didn't drink and keeping an eye on the house so the laundry would not get out of hand once more. They still did not offer details about themselves, but they began to know each other through their reactions, through the intonations of their speech and which characters they liked and how they responded to plotlines.

They were both romantics it seemed, though jaded in a way that only those who had experienced loss were. It was easier to love a book and the people within, than it was to let pain into one's life once more. They both allowed more openness to these characters than they would have if they themselves were in that situation, liking the idea of love but no longer easily accepting it in a world where loss had become so commonplace. Thor preferred the kinder characters, while Ida was interested in the intelligent ones, explaining the nuances of earth's social graces in the 19th century to the god. He was a good listener—and a good learner—soaking up all he heard. He became more at ease asking questions and interrupting her, though always respectful—his playful attitude long gone once he had realized quite early on that she could look into him just as he could her.

She stayed later and later, with Thor's confidence growing in asking for just one more chapter before she left. She often agreed, enjoying the experience of the two of them doing this together. Neither of them had had anyone to do anything with for quite some time.

It was on one of these nights that Ida fell asleep, curled up in the corner of the sofa that had become designated as hers. She woke up in an odd position, head on the shoulder of the sleeping man, a worn but usable blanket draped over her small form. She seemed so tiny next to him. This being who could've already enveloped her completely in his glory days, would now be able to swallow her up entirely. She found she did not mind so much, minus the slight smell. It was the feeling of safety and while Ida did not need that, she wouldn't turn her nose up at it either. She knew it was equal exchange, protection for protection.

She watched him for a moment, taking in his vulnerability as he slept. This was perhaps the most at ease she'd ever seen him, the lines on his face smoothed out and his mouth slightly open to let in deep calm breaths.

She nudged the man awake gently; the night still dark outside.

"Thor," she whispered softly.

"Mm?" his head turned towards hers, face closer than expected though not in a bothersome manner. His eyes were heavy with sleep and voice the same.

Perhaps her own tiredness impaired her judgement, or maybe she was simply getting too comfortable but regardless, the words tumbled from her lips with a careful execution, as if she had been thinking of it for a long time.

"Would you let me wash your hair?"

The question was odd at best, intrusive and offensive at worst.

He blinked at her slowly, unsure if she was joking but there was a seriousness to everything Ida did, and he could see it was an actual request.

He stared at her for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. The electricity she felt in the air was different than usual, a gradual addition of energy to the atmosphere that seemed wild and unsure of itself.

"My hair is quite important to me," Thor began, the two of them past the point of being unnecessarily cumbersome in their speech, weighing it down with false smiles and unnecessary pleasantries. She knew who he was without the jokes.

She nodded.

"I know, I'd be careful."

He frowned, about to reject her offer.

"I'd rather not-"

"Will you do it if I don't?" She asked, voice gentle. He blinked again at her, that familiar guilt appearing in his expression. She wasn't attempting to force his hand, simply asking a question, but he was equal parts ashamed and grateful at her intentions.

"Alright," he said after a moment, not fully confident in his decision but not as entirely uncomfortable as he could've been.

She took his hand then, something she had never properly done, holding his fingers loosely in hers as she stood and led him to the bathroom. She inspected the room, hoping the sink would be big enough to preform her task but finding it wasn't.

Tub it was then.

She wondered when he had last used the shower, checking the temperature as she began to run the water. The set-up of this bathroom was horrible, with no way of comfortably sitting outside the tub. Inside it would have to be. The tub was large enough for the two of them, if they bent their knees. It would work well enough for what she needed to do.

Ida began pulling off her sweatshirt, the god spluttering at her sudden movement.

She looked back at him, ever so slightly amused.

"I'm keeping my underclothes on, calm down," she laughed lightly. "Just don't want to get wet."

He stared at her, cheeks pink and air crackling with something new.

She ignored him—she usually did—tugging off her t-shirt as well and getting rid of her pants. Her underwear wasn't anything special, there was no reason for all of that, just comfortable boy shorts and a t-shirt bra that allowed her to move freely.

She glanced at him, amused by his expression.

"Are you going to get in fully clothed?"

He started, coughing lightly and cheeks burning as he grunted a reply and removed his own clothes, leaving him standing stomach out and in the ugliest boxers she'd ever seen.

She laughed, sound light and airy and real.

"You have horrendous taste," she said, eyes bright. He watched her, softer than he normally was, and she felt the familiar electricity burning through her.

"Well," he shrugged, leaving it there.

She smiled in return, before moving to the tub, sitting at the far end and curling her knees against her chest. She extended a hand to him then, fingers slightly wet and delicate—the hands of a healer—calling him in. She was inviting him in for more than just a bath. It was an invitation to human connection; one she had not even realized she was giving but slipping naturally into the way in which she called him to join her.

He stared for a moment, considering what such a link would mean, but took her hand in his soon enough, stepping into the tub.

"Back to me," she instructed, gesturing for him to turn and settle between her legs. He did as he was told, silent as she asked that he lower his head into the water. It was a bit uncomfortable, his legs at an odd angle as he attempted to do as she said but he eventually managed to lie back, head between her thighs and looking up at the one he had given the title of healer.

She looked warmly down at him, fingers running through his hair gently, removing as many tangles as she could while he did his best to keep still, mouth above water so he could breathe. There was intimacy in their discomfort as they contorted themselves to fit into the tub, a closeness as he closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of a touch that had come to mean safety.

She worked her fingers through his hair a few times before cupping both his cheeks lightly from upside down, a single to sit up. It was more than she'd ever touched him before, but neither minded much.

Thor moved to comply, water clinging to his locks before dripping loudly back into the tub. Ida massaged her hands against his head, now covered with shampoo, careful with her motions as to not hurt him. She didn't even know if she could, this man who was a god, but she didn't want to risk it. Her gentleness did not make him tense anymore; she gave no indication that she thought him weak. She only thought his hair dirty and in need of a good clean.

They were silent for some time, Ida working out the knots in his hair slowly and meticulously, as if doing another medical procedure. It was a long while before he spoke, nervous and afraid of her answer.

"Do you not think of me poorly?" He asked, only just catching his voice from breaking.

"You are allowed to grieve," was all she said. She saw his shoulders tense, the words hitting him like a bus. She wondered if anyone had said that to him before.

"I-" it took him a moment to process what she had said, her tone causal and hands still working away. She saw him swallow.

"I'm allowed to grieve," he repeated, an if unsure of how the words felt in his mouth and distrustful of them.

She stopped then, seeing that what was the most natural thing in the world to her, was difficult to swallow for him. Her hand rested gently on his bare back, fingers splayed and lather running onto his skin.

"Others have told you something else."

It was a statement, not a question. She knew the villagers wouldn't be disrespectful in such a manner, but she understood they feared for their king, longed for his old strength. She did not wait for an answer before speaking again.

"You are allowed to grieve," she said once more, voice softer than the first time. There was lightening under her fingers, but she did not feel afraid. "Perhaps more than most. You lost more than most." She did not understand it all, but she understood _him_. "You feel it's your fault." Another statement. "But the others," he knew she wasn't talking about the Asgardians anymore, "think you've lost the same as them. So, they think you should grieve as they do and work hard and try to reverse the wrongs that have already passed…or continue to help as you once did." She had seen him change the channel when that American hero appeared, reminding people to find the good in their lives and seek help. She had seen his discomfort at the green beast when he had accidentally left on the news or the one time the man with the artificial heart—that billionaire weapons dealer turned good—had been on a gossip station for the birth of his daughter. He was not like them. She did not think he should be.

He turned towards her then, knees bent badly and pain in his eyes. She did not look away.

"You are allowed to grieve," she said once more. "They don't—can't—see the world like you do. You've seen more of the universe than them—than all of us. You understand more than anyone the magnitude of the destruction caused in a way that we can't. You've _felt _the destruction." She did not know his life, not well, but she knew his people, knew the town was full of ghosts long lost before half the earth had turned to dust. "Why should you not grieve?"

He stared at her, the universe in his eyes and electricity under his skin. She could see the hurricane of emotion inside him, the thunderous sadness and anger that nearly burst from within him. She touched his face then, gentle and calm and ready to weather the storm if need be.

"You are tired," she said softly. "You've lived millennia never having to feel a pain as great as this—as losing a thousand lifetimes. You cannot except those who have only lost one to understand."

Tears fell then, the storm becoming a summer rain. She held his face, allowing him to cry, not wiping the tears from his cheeks. She did not look away, did not allow him to feel ashamed. What was there to feel shame for? He was sad. He was sad and he was angry, and he had every right to be.

She held his face in her hands for as long as he let the tears fall, the warmth in her gaze drying them slowly as he met it with his own.

"Thank you," He managed once he had cried his fill.

She smiled, almost as if in on a joke, hands dropping from his cheeks.

"You need to rinse again."

So, he did. She washed his hair and beard through once more before deciding it was clean, tapping his shoulder lightly to indicate he let the water out of the tub. They showered together quickly, undergarments still on and even more cramped as they took turns under the stream of water to get the foam off their skin. The floor was slick once they got out, and Ida laughed as Thor lost his balance briefly and grabbed the sink with a terrified expression.

His pout made a reappearance, but she did not fall for such things and grinned, tossing him a towel and drying herself off with her own.

Soon enough they were warm again, Ida forcing Thor into clean clothes and leaving her undergarments in the dryer as she put her own back on. She knew it was too late to go home, the woods were not safe this late in a place such as this, so she curled back up on the couch, an unspoken agreement between the two of them.

He sat on his side, causing her to tilt her head lightly.

"You have a bed."

"Yes," was his answer.

She understood and moved to share the blanket with him, hesitating at the intimacy before deciding on resting her feet lightly in his lap. He seemed surprised but nearly pleased and she ignored the slight electric shock that caused her toes to tingle when he pulled the blanket over them, before settling in for the night.

The next morning was full of sore muscles and messy hair, yawns and growling stomachs, but for the first time, when Ida felt the familiar crackle of energy in the air, it wasn't the least bit stuffy.

**Love it? Hate it? PLEASE REVIEW! Reviews let me know if you want me to continue, so make sure to tell me what you think. I'm planning on this being a relatively short fic, as previously stated, that focuses on these two's relationship but each chapter should be a more or less decent length that covers a good chunk of their story. Let me know what you think!**

**Thanks,**

**~Liliana**


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